


Epilogue: Kuksa

by AETXL



Series: Flinch [2]
Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Bi, F/F, Fluff, Give Elsa A Girlfriend (Disney), LGBTQ, Lesbian, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AETXL/pseuds/AETXL
Summary: Epilogue to Flinch:---Hiding the carving in her gákti, Honeymaren darts back inside... A knock at the door, Elsa’s voice—perfect timing..“I love you, too.”How long had it been since she heard those words and really, truly felt it?---Chapter 1 is Teen.Chapter 2 is Teen with a mark when it escalates quickly to Explicit.Works as a short fic, but there are some spoilers if you were planning on reading Flinch, even in the sexy parts.
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Series: Flinch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894195
Comments: 23
Kudos: 89





	1. Honeymaren

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously though, PAY ME IN ART!!! Any art of Flinch content, I beg.
> 
> i REALLY really really really wanted to work this kuksa scene(s) into Flinch from the beginning, one of the first Elsamaren things I imagined. But because of how long it realistically takes to make a kuksa/guksi, it just didn't fit.
> 
> Chapter one gets into Kuksa making.  
> Chapter two is where it gets EXPLICIT (see chapter two for warnings/notes). If you aren't 18+, don't you hecking DARE read past that mark!

**—Honeymaren—**

Soft moan.

Honeymaren hears it first, opens her eyes against soft sunlight. That sunshine drapes the goahti of ice around her. Glowing beside her under the blankets, Elsa sleeps. She nuzzles her face closer to Honeymaren’s chest, nudging Honeymaren’s arm closer, tighter around her. So, so slowly, Honeymaren remembers last night… this morning… it honestly might be afternoon now.

_Oh, Elsa_ , Honeymaren thinks. Blinking away some tears threatening the corners of her eyes, she leans in to softly kiss the crown of her head. Her body shudders remembering last night, their first time having sex together.

A lot of it.

And Honeymaren told Elsa she… Even without anyone’s gaze to embarrass her, she blushes at the thought, in giving in to the throes of passion and saying _out loud_ that she loves Elsa. Her heart thunders with anxiety. At the time, Honeymaren felt relieved when Elsa didn’t say it back automatically. Now there could be a whole conversation about it, diving deep into her many layers of defenses brought on by a few too many heartbreaks in her young life.

Then again, she recalls how much of that heartbreak Elsa’s witnessed… how _unafraid_ Elsa seemed last night. For the most part. She sighs, brushing blonde hair away from her face. Right now, Elsa looks so… peaceful.

Nuzzling closer, Honeymaren smiles; she falls asleep smiling for another hour.

They really hadn’t been anywhere close to done.

Good thing Elsa’s home is in the forest while everyone else’s lavvus are out on the plain of the summer grounds.

\---

When Honeymaren wakes again, Elsa’s still asleep, her back flush against her own face. Smiling again, she kisses up Elsa’s spine, nosing blonde hair out of the way. This time, Elsa stirs; her throat releases another soft moan. Sleepily her face turns. Blue eyes flutter open, looking round at Honeymaren, resting her chin against Elsa’s shoulder.

Elsa smiles.

“Good morning.”

“Mmmm no,” Honeymaren mumbles. “It’s almost noon.”

“Same… same thing,” Elsa sighs, closing her eyes again as Honeymaren continues to kiss across her bare skin. “I feel like Olaf.”

That gives Honeymaren some pause, lifting herself onto her elbow to look down at Elsa with some… concern? Confusion, definitely. Possible disgust, but trying to hide it. “Excuse me?”

Still sleepy and strained, Elsa nonetheless smirks with her barely open eyes. “Like I don’t have any bones.”

Honeymaren snorts, chuckles. “He what?”

“It’s just a thing he says.”

“No, don’t go back to sleep!” Honeymaren implores Elsa, although she wouldn’t have a good reason if Elsa asked why not. Instead she offers faster, firmer kisses across Elsa’s neck and shoulder and face. “I wanna be with you.”

“You are with me.”

“I want to talk to you.”

Moaning disapprovingly, Elsa nonetheless rotates onto her back and blinks up at Honeymaren. A pale hand reaches up for her face, and Honeymaren offers her palm fervid kisses, offerings for a night they fought for over many months. _Almost a year,_ she realizes, considering the summertime just outside the impossible ice sculpture she rests within. After all, summer isn’t long here. And if she’s honest with herself, she’s at the very least _wanted_ Elsa since they met.

“What do you want to talk about?” Elsa asks.

Humming happily, Honeymaren rests her chin on Elsa’s sternum. “Anything. You could try explaining money to me again, and I’d be happy.” She giggles when that earns a sleepy, tortured groan from this beloved woman.

Elsa closes her eyes, holds Honeymaren’s smirking face between her two hands, and begs, “Please don’t make me explain capitalism when I got to have sex with you last night.”

“And a lot of it.”

At last, Elsa giggles, too.

\---

Eventually, Honeymaren heads home. Elsa needs rest and relaxation for herself, and Honeymaren has zero complaints with respect to her needs. Not now that she can be honest about how she feels, what she wants. Still, she glances back through the trees at the woman’s goahti more than a few times on the walk back to her own dwelling, grinning to herself. But then again, she _does_ know what awaits her at her own lavvu. With Ryder. No, wait, she doesn’t know. This is unprecedented because Elsa is different, and it had been years since Soaba passed (and unlike Jaska, Elsa has a conscious). But still, she knows Ryder well enough to—

“Hello sister!”

She sighs, not bothering to look up at Ryder. He didn’t even wait for her to actually get home. “Ryder,” she warns.

“You have got some explaining to do!” he says dramatically, a smile clear as day in his voice.

“How can I help you, brother?” she asks, sarcastically lifting her brow up at him. Shrugging her shoulders, Honeymaren drops her pack carefully and rolls her neck.

“You can explain yourself!”

Smirking calmly, Honeymaren spreads her feet hip-width apart, bounces up on her toes. “Be more specific.”

Ryder takes note of her position, hesitates. “I just wanna know how your trip was!” he says, shrugging with a smirk of his own.

“It was very nice,” Honeymaren says pleasantly, lifting her arms in front of her body anyway. “Thanks for asking.”

“Sooooooo,” Ryder draws out. Any second now, she’ll kick his ass. “Did anything develop between yourself aaaaaand…”

“Say it, Ryder.”

“And the fair queen?”

"Princess." Honeymaren’s eyes alight, readying herself while nonetheless offering one last degree of mercy. “I’m not going to kiss and tell, Ryder.”

“Aw come on!” Ryder groans. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting on you two?!”

“Not this time.”

Quietly, his little brother antics defeating his caution, Ryder exclaims under his breath, “But did you _finally_ get a meal?!”

She launches at him, and Ryder yelps excitedly, turning tail to run. “I gave you a chance, you brat!”

Laughing out of terror, Ryder narrowly escapes his sister’s clutches repeatedly as he runs through the lavvus and out onto the open plain, sliding across wild grass. Onlookers across the Northuldra summer camp laugh at the sight of stoic, athletic Honeymaren in hot pursuit of her goofy, agent-of-chaos, _noaidi_ brother.

“I’ll take that as a yes!”

“You’re just prolonging the inevitable,” she shouts back at him.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Ryder squeals, stopping short at the edge of the woods—surely remembering that he’d be in more danger of Honeymaren’s pursuit there—and darting away with a grunt. Honeymaren jumps at a tree, landing her foot on the trunk and pushing off, landing heavily on Ryder’s back. She shouts in triumph as they tumble to the ground, startling some of the nearby reindeer. They start to grapple, Ryder grunted and squeaking as he tries to escape. Although certainly smaller, Honeymaren knows better than anyone how to use her size to her own advantage.

After all, Yelena taught her, as did Soaba.

“Give up yet?” Honeymaren asks, dropping her weight heavily across Ryder’s upper back and into the ground, pinning his arms underneath his chest and holding them there by her knees and elbows. His legs scramble, trying to get under him and push up, but Honeymaren knows he’ll never be able to pull it off with his center of gravity—a woman or a trans man maybe could, but certainly not Ryder. Still, he twists, grunts, randomly kicking his heel to his butt in an attempt to strike her. Nothing works.

“Fine!” he groans at last. “Mercy!”

Chuckling, breathing hard, Honeymaren releases him, sitting back on her knees. Rolling his shoulders and neck, Ryder sits up, too, laughing a little. After he catches his breath, they both lean forward, kissing each other’s cheeks and hugging tightly.

“Love you, Mare.”

“Love you too, Ry.”

“I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

Letting each other go, Ryder flops back onto his back, gazing up at the sky. Honeymaren sits down beside him, pulls some wild grass and sprinkles it on his face. He blows at it loudly, giving her a playful glare.

“You have to apologize to Elsa.”

“What, why?” Ryder asks. “She wasn’t there, she didn’t hear!” Then Gale blows by, dropping more natural debris on Ryder’s face. He grimaces at the dirt and leaves and muck, spitting and wiping his face while groaning again.

She leans back on her hands, shrugging through a chuckle. “That’s the rule now.”

“Ugh, I don’t get to hear anything about your trip? To _actual_ Athohallen?”

“I didn’t say that. Just no teasing Elsa. I don’t want her running away because of jerks like you.” He actually flinches a little, eyes wide with concern suddenly. Honeymaren nudges him kindly, rolls her eyes, saying, “I’m kidding.”

“You are?”

“Yeah,” she giggles, turning to look out at the reindeer, the lavvus, smoke rising from hearth fires. “She’s not going anywhere. But leave her alone,” Honeymaren says, sighing happily to herself.

Ryder hums, places his hand over his sister’s. “Good,” he says softly. “I’m glad.”

They sit in pleasant silence for a few moments, listening to the sacred summer land of their ancestors. “I do have things to tell you though,” Honeymaren says at last. She only braves a glance at Ryder. “About Mama and Papa.” _At least_ , she thinks, _I’ll get to tell him about Elsa’s present, too_.

\---

Late one night, about a week after her twenty-seventh birthday, Honeymaren walks toward her and Ryder’s lavvu from Elsa’s home, looking up at the peaceful stars when she notices a particular tree. Looking at it jogs her memory, but she’s not sure how, running her hand through her disheveled hair. Then she remembers it: The same day Elsa kissed her in front of everyone, that morning Honeymaren had crossed the trees to the plain’s edge and spotted a birch burl up high. She can see it clearly before the tree now. It gives her an idea, and she’s vaguely aware that the starlight in her hair—Elsa’s mark, they two have been calling it—starts to glow stronger.

Honeymaren rushes home and enters carefully. Coals glow, giving her some light to sneak around quietly while Ryder sleeps. After she rummages around a minute, she finds herself a sharp hatchet, birch bark they recently harvested, and some rope. Before she leaves, though, Honeymaren tip-toes next to Ryder and gently turns his head so he can breathe more clearly (and snore less loudly).

She returns to the tree and climbs up the one next to it, noticing that the moon would be setting soon. Although she doesn’t make it a habit to watch, Honeymaren loves watching moonsets. Through some careful knotwork and some tree-lassoing, Honeymaren manages to climb her tree high enough that it bends toward the burl that she hunts. Once she’s close enough, she ties the tree to the other. Carefully, she checks her knots once more before attaching some rope to herself, both in case she falls and to free her hands.

The burl looks even more beautiful up close. Thin bark curls every which way around it. It’s the perfect size for the duodji project she has in mind. Smiling to herself, Honeymaren pulls her hatchet from where it hangs off her belt and sets to work. If she’s vigilant and slow, she should be able to remove the burl without risking the tree’s health.

Behind her, Honeymaren can feel the sun’s rays slowly cresting above the horizon, warming the air around her. Wiping her brow, she slowly carves against the last of the wood attaching the burl to the trunk of the birch tree with one hand. Her other hand catches the burl as it falls off. Grinning widely, Honeymaren cradles it to her chest while returning her ax to her hip. Only then does she stow the burl within her pack.

In turn, she pulls out birch bark as well as a small pouch of birch sap. Used by Northuldra as a rare sweetener when freshly harvested, Honeymaren had planned to experiment with this little bit of liquid after Elsa explained other nations fermented it into a beverage. Instead, Honeymaren applies it to the bare wood of the tree. Then she covers the wound with the birch bark, making sure to cover all exposed flesh of the tree. Honeymaren nods to herself. Although she’s no expert of duodji craft, she thinks this will at least lower chances of infection for the tree.

Distinctive chittering meets her ears and a rush of summer scents waft around her.

“Gale!” The wind spirit blows around Honeymaren, spilling all kinds of plants and seemingly random debris over Honeymaren’s tree-bandage. At first it looks random, but Honeymaren squints at it and notices some of the items look like familiar medicinal plants. Others, she doesn’t recognize, but she grins anyway. “Gale, are you going to help me take care of this tree?” Again, wind blows up around her, making her float and laugh. “Thanks so much, Gale.”

With a gleeful shout, Honeymaren releases the rope’s knots. She drops through the air rapidly, stopping safely at the end of her rope’s length. Hupping, Honeymaren swings to a nearby branch and stands, gives a practiced tug on her rope to dislodge it, and returns it to her pack as well.

The first step to carving the kuksa must be tackled immediately, so Honeymaren runs home. She sneaks inside to start a kettle of coffee, knows she won’t sleep until the carving is complete. Then she darts back outside, picking a spot to sit where Elsa won’t be able to see her from afar. Pulling her hatchet from her belt again, Honeymaren sticks her tongue out a bit while she starts roughly cutting the side and top profiles from the burl wood, careful to mirror the natural grain of the timber while she “sketches” with her blade.

By the time the coffee’s done, Honeymaren’s ready to start proper carving with her knife. Returning to her lavvu, she finds Ryder sitting up, yawning. He spots her and groans in disbelief.

“How are you up already? I got to bed before you even came home!” He slumps back, disappointed.

Smirking, Honeymaren admits, “Technically I never went to bed.” While she grabs their respective kuksas to fill with coffee, Ryder gawks at her.

“What? Why?! Did something happen?”

“No, no,” Honeymaren assures him, handing him his drink. “Nothing happened, I just got sidetracked.”

He pauses over his cup, looking at her strangely. “You didn’t… uh… all night?”

“Ryder!” She throws a nearby pelt at him roughly.

“What!” he cries, lifting his coffee out of danger’s way. The pelt lands over his head, under which he sighs. Without removing it, Ryder instead lifts his coffee cup to his lips under the blanket, making Honeymaren laugh. “Anything’s possible, I don’t know what you two get up to.”

“For a reason.”

“And I respect the reason!” he insists. “I respect Elsa’s privacy, I get it! But you said you didn’t sleep at all last night, I’m allowed to worry about my sister. Especially if the reason she stayed up was unrelated to… very good things.”

Relenting, Honeymaren pulls the pelt off her brother’s mussed hair and heads for the door. “I assure you, it was still a good thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Honeymaren nods, taking her kuksa full of coffee with her. “I’m making something for Elsa,” she tells him. His dark blue eyes light up, watching Honeymaren pause at the door.

“Oh, tell me!”

Lifting her cup in front of her as example, Honeymaren shrugs with a smile. “Elsa still doesn’t have a kuksa of her own.” She smiles more as she exits, hears Ryder coo excitedly behind her.

“Wait!” he calls. “You wanna borrow my spoon knife?”

\---

After her second—no, wait, third—cup of coffee, Honeymaren holds the green wood out in front of her, examining it. Bruni the fire spirit scampers off her shoulder and down her arm, pretending to examine the work, too, while also looking back at Honeymaren repeatedly. Running her fingers over it carefully, the wood feels smooth. At least for this step in the process. Next, she examines the hallow to it, checking once more for any cracks or chips. Finally, the handle—it too looks smooth, and she tests the balance of it in her grip.

She yawns widely. Just then, Ryder walks around the lavvu to her side. “Wow!” he says, smiling at her work. “Nice way to spend your morning?”

Honeymaren nods, pleased with her carving. She lifts it to Ryder, asks, “What do you think?”

Running his fingertips over the surface, Ryder purses his lips. “I think the handle could use a little more work before you dry it. This is fresh wood, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm, I saw a burl ages ago that I wanted to carve and forgot about it. But I found it again last night,” Honeymaren replies, accepting the returned project. Bruni jumps inside the kuksa, curling up adorably in the unfished cup. Ryder coos down at him and Honeymaren giggles, tickling his tiny stomach with her pinky.

“You should probably hurry if you’re trying to keep it secret,” Ryder says, then quirks an eyebrow down at her. “Elsa’s bound to come looking for you soon.”

“Good point.”

After Ryder departs to go check on his favorite reindeer, Honeymaren gives the kuksa’s handle a light touch up, letting Bruni nap. Tons of whittled curls of wood fall off her when she stands up at last.

“All right little guy,” she says, poking Bruni again. “Naptime’s over.” He stretches, flames just sparking at his back, and he runs off, stopping at morning firepits around the camp and checking on their flames.

Hiding the carving in her gákti, Honeymaren darts back inside, finds a thin leather bag. She places the carving within it, then hunts down a cool dry place to hide it. Over the next few days, Honeymaren knows she’ll need to check it frequently, cleaning out the moisture that the bag collects as the wood dries. It might be a whole month before it’s completely dry.

A knock at the door, Elsa’s voice—perfect timing.

\---

Honeymaren runs through early autumn sunlight to the river. Over a month earlier, she began drying her duodji project. Now the reindeer rut season is well underway, which means they’ll soon be returning to the south, the winter grounds away from the mountains and tundra plains. And _that_ means she needs to collect scouring rush, an abrasive reed that grows around the edges of the river, to finish smoothing the dried wood. All of which she forgot about, because when is she _not_ busy with reindeer or hunting or Yelena involving her more and more in leadership roles?!

She leaps from a rocky edge of the river, but instead of splashing knee deep in the muddy shore among the reeds, none other than the Nokk leaps up from the water, catching her on his back.

“Whoa, wait!”

The Nokk ignores Honeymaren’s shocked cry and whinnies, galloping around the river joyfully. He bucks a little, giving her a little fight, but never really endangering Honeymaren. Still, she clings to his mane as best she can, shouting at him.

“No, stop, buddy! Take me back!”

It’s no use. Elsa must be busy, and the Nokk obviously wants to take a joy ride. Irritation gives way to acceptance and one of Honeymaren’s distinctive smirks. “All right, okay, you brat! Let’s go!” She squeezes her calves and thighs around him, and the Nokk launches himself across the water. Galloping all the faster with the river’s current, he kicks out behind him joyfully, reminding Honeymaren to pay attention. She laughs at his jest, grins with furrowed brow as she bends forward, letting wind coast off her back.

A mighty shout escapes Honeymaren as the Nokk rushes toward the rapids further downriver. He navigates the churning waters so fast while Honeymaren blinks rapidly against the wind in her face, trying to let the tears out of her eyes so she can focus on balancing. Water splashes all around them, yet the Nokk keeps her safe above the current despite his feints at dropping her. While he coasts down a series of waterfalls, adrenaline rushes through Honeymaren’s veins.

It’s not lost on her that although the Nokk offers help to all the Northuldra these days, she’s the only ordinary person in living memory to ride him. (Elsa doesn’t count, she’s not ordinary in any sense of the word—and Honeymaren fucking loves her.)

However, the Nokk doesn’t exactly go easy on her. Honeymaren’s familiar enough with the river’s path that she doesn’t want to go much further past the rapids. “Nokk, take me back!” she shouts over the crashing waters. Rather typically, he ignores her. “Please? Nokk, come on, let’s not—”

Excited, the Nokk makes a curious nicker sound, and Honeymaren knows instantly that she’s screwed—he’s spotted the big waterfall.

“Nokk, no!” Honeymaren begs, holding on tighter. “Not the big one!”

His pace picks up, galloping fast at the ledge over which water pours.

“No, Nokk wait!” It’s still no use. The Nokk screams with delight while Honeymaren screams in terror when he jumps.

\---

By the time the Nokk trots back to where he first captured Honeymaren’s company for the day, her soaked-through clothes have mostly dried. He shakes himself as she slowly swings a leg over his back. As for her dismount, her legs are so sore from the ride that she just falls off, splashing into the river’s shore with a groan. Grimacing, sitting in knee deep muddy water, Honeymaren rubs her ass in pain. But the Nokk bends down to her, noses her face. She looks around herself and realizes something, her heart sinking: The patch of scouring rush is trampled. They must have flattened it when the Nokk invited her for their ride earlier.

Honeymaren sighs, but turns her attention to the water spirit trying to nuzzle her. “Yeah?” she asks, letting him lean his head against her face and chest. “You’re sorry?”

A soft nicker replies.

“I know, buddy,” she says, at last rubbing his watery cheeks and forehead. He snorts softly into the touch. Honeymaren smiles a little. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’ll find something else to finish Elsa’s kuksa.

The Nokk pulls back a little, surprised.

“What, you didn’t know I was making it for her?” she asks, standing up out of the water and petting him again. The spirit snorts again, a tiny squeal accompanying the sound, expressing his displeasure with himself. “It’s okay,” Honeymaren assures him, pauses. “But you can’t tell her, deal?”

Even as Nokk nickers in agreement, another voice speaks: “Tell me what?”

She smiles softly as she turns to look at Elsa, absolutely dazzling with early evening light crossing over her through yellow tree leaves. Honeymaren leaves the Nokk behind, climbs out of the mud and water onto the shore.

“What on earth did he do to you?” Elsa asks, looking Honeymaren over.

“Nothing,” Honeymaren says, coming closer and chuckling when Elsa makes a point of stepping back and away. “He just wanted some company today.”

“Did he?” Elsa asks, giving the Nokk a suspicious look, belying a hidden pleased tone to her voice. To Honeymaren, she says, “Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll cook some dinner for us?”

Immediately Honeymaren perks up. _“You_ are offering to _cook?”_

“If you’re clean.”

“What if,” Honeymaren begins, “we both get cleaned up?”

Elsa’s eyes wander over Honeymaren. She grins a little and blushes a little, but tries to maintain her stately tone, saying, “I’m already clean.”

Honeymaren smirks at her and Elsa bolts. “Not for long!”

\---

Once the tribe has settled into their freshly reassembled winter goahtis, Yelena acquires Honeymaren for the dull task of inventory. The community goahti was the first to go up. Although it needs final preparations, the tribe gathers general supplies there for now. It takes several hours to check everything, and Honeymaren’s mind wanders far and wide. At one point, pondering the task of sanding the still unfinished kuksa without scouring rush, Yelena reaches about as high as she can to poke her in the forehead.

“Ow! Hey!”

“Stop daydreaming.”

“I wasn’t daydreaming—”

“Mhmm,” Yelena hums, unconvinced.

“I wasn’t! I just have a problem I need to fix.”

“Is the problem doing inventory while you’d rather be making out?”

Honeymaren crosses her arms, stern. “Yelena!” She blushes a little, too, despite the fact that she knows Yelena’s teasing comes from approval and acceptance.

“Okay!” Yelena says simply, holding her hands up in front of her. “I apologize.”

“Thanks,” Honeymaren grumbles. “Let’s just get this done.” The look on Yelena’s face, the slightest of smirks that Honeymaren can see when no one else can, irks her. “Stop.”

“I said nothing.”

“You were thinking something.”

When they step out of the large goahti, a noticeable chill sits in the air. Honeymaren glances west at the sun set. It’s weird to think she actually got used to the summer, reveling in the sun’s late hours and friendly presence. With winter coming, she ponders what struggles might face her people following the first true season of plenty they’ve experienced in decades. She’s about to walk forward, contemplate the question, when a hand grabs her shoulder.

“What?” she asks Yelena. Her mentor simply moves her eyes from Honeymaren to the ground in front of them. Honeymaren looks. “Oh!”

A cairn of rough rocks sits there. Bending down, she picks one up. It feels even rougher than in looks, and Honeymaren realizes they’re all rough, covered in strange bumps and air pockets. “What kind of rock is this?”

Again, a hand on her shoulder alerts her to instruction. Honeymaren glances back at Yelena, who points with her eyes up and ahead. Quickly turning, she catches sight of some familiar wolves, running playfully after a large wolf-like earth giant that walks silently into the forest ahead. Smiling, Honeymaren tosses the rock in hand and catches it, again and again.

One by one, Honeymaren gathers the rocks, stacking them against her torso in her arms.

“You, uh, want a hand?”

Honeymaren turns back to Yelena and winks at her. “I got it.” Before she turns and walks away, she catches sight of Yelena, chuckling and shaking her head at her protégé, placing her hands on her hips.

\---

Elsa and Honeymaren lounge by a communal fire that night after eating with their community. Others gather nearby, some at the same fire and some at others. Honeymaren spreads her arms across the log at her back, smiling at Elsa, who smiles back and strokes her ear, pushing her hair back. By now, she’s learned to read Elsa’s unique body language. Although seated at a distance, seemingly closed off to the rest of their group, Honeymaren notes the movement of her hand to her hair, the bite to her lip, and most notably, that she’s pointed her knees toward Honeymaren.

Somebody’s frisky.

An actual earth giant brought her tools for her project today, though, and very possibly at the Nokk’s behest. Honeymaren bites her lip as Elsa grins, reaching to brush some random fuzz off Honeymaren’s clothes, scooting closer in the process. _How did I ever_ not _kiss you?_ she asks herself, finding her resistance strain under the temptation of Elsa’s open advance. Open for her.

“I think I might turn in,” Elsa says to her quietly, touching Honeymaren’s bicep a moment—much longer than her usual short second of a touch. A _very_ open invitation for Elsa. Honeymaren lets out the tiniest wanting, accidental squeak.

But she takes a deep breath, watching Elsa’s hand linger. “Honestly, I should double check the inventory,” she says, sorry eyes still on Elsa’s hands, afraid that she might see her lie.

“Of course,” Elsa says, and Honeymaren looks up. She doesn’t look disappointed, doesn’t sound like it either. “Don’t work too hard,” she adds, smiling earnestly.

Leaning forward, Elsa offers her a chaste kiss, so soft it nonetheless blazes through Honeymaren. When her eyes flutter open, she spots Elsa quirking a brow up at Honeymaren’s hair, smiling proudly. Honeymaren instinctively reaches up to it, sure as ever the star-like lights Elsa bestowed on her (accidentally) are glowing extra bright right now. With a wink, Elsa adds, “At least you won’t need a torch.” As she stands and walks away, Honeymaren’s jaw drops, looking anywhere else and finally biting her fist.

She flips over, folds her arms on top of the log and rests her chin on them, watching Elsa leave the firelight. And she hears Yelena approach, stand behind her. “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Honeymaren doesn’t bother looking back.

“We finished inventory.”

Her eyes gleam, looking back at Yelena. She grins, waiting for Yelena to hear Ryder running towards them. When Yelena looks curiously over her shoulder, Ryder slides across the ground, arriving with the unfinished kuksa and a pumice stone from earlier. “Hey Yelena!” he grunts, handing the goods to Honeymaren and running off again. The elder frowns down, confused, as Honeymaren starts to sand the wood, again sticking her tongue out. And scooting on her rump closer to the fire for better light.

“You lied?”

“A little, yes,” Honeymaren says, focusing on her project.

“You’re working on what exactly?”

“A gift for Elsa.”

From nearby, she hears Ryder giggle, whisper-yelling at Yelena: “Young Love!”

In front of her, she hears Yelena move, sitting on her haunches, looking at the object in her hands. “A gift, hm?”

“Yes, and don’t you dare tell,” Honeymaren warns, wrapping herself around the kuksa protectively.

“Okay,” Yelena says, smiling and nodding gently. She groans, standing back up, and walks away.

An hour later, blowing sawdust from her kuksa and selecting a finer rock to continue smoothing the lip of the cup, Honeymaren hears footsteps approach. Looking up, she pauses. “Hey.”

Nasti smiles down at Honeymaren. “May I join you for a moment?”

“Yeah!” Honeymaren says, watching her childhood friend take a seat. “To what do I owe the honor?” In response, Nasti rolls her eyes, elbowing Honeymaren a little. They giggle together.

“I see you’re working on a little something,” she says, glancing obsidian eyes at Honeymaren’s hands.

“I am,” Honeymaren admits sheepishly. She feels herself blush a little, embarrassed. “It’s not as great as your duodji, but it didn’t crack!”

“Oh nonsense,” Nasti says, gently prying the unfinished mug from Honeymaren’s hands, examining it calmly. “You were always good with your hands.”

Honeymaren smiles, oddly happy to know that no second, flirtatious meaning floats under Nasti’s words. She’s not like Jaska, nor is she a poet or a romantic. Nasti can be trusted to be straight-forward, honest but kindly so. Plus, they didn’t do that much when they were childhood sweethearts. “What do you think?”

“Honestly?”

“Obviously,” Honeymaren responds, voice grave.

Her companion laughs. “Don’t sound so afraid. I think it’s lovely. I don’t remember the last time you carved something this technical.”

Embarrassed nonetheless, Honeymaren scratches at her neck. “It has been a while.”

As Nasti checks the balance—holds the handle and rolls her wrist, mimics sipping or pouring liquids—she asks, “So who is this very fine kuksa for?” She giggles again at Honeymaren’s blush. Very slowly, she reaches for the kuksa, knowing full well that Nasti won’t relinquish yet. Still, she fakes strain, trying to pull it out of her hands. Nasti giggles yet again. She fights Honeymaren off in earnest, then finally returns the carving. “When did you get so funny?”

“I was always funny,” Honeymaren says simply, smiling to herself and her cup. Nasti’s seems genuinely pleased with her creation, and that’s quite pleasing to her at least. She takes a deep breath, thinking vaguely of Elsa.

“No,” Nasti disagrees, “Not always. You were a prankster—”

Feigning bitterness now, Honeymaren growls, “And you always told on me!”

“See, like that!” Nasti says, smiling and motioning at Honeymaren’s face. “Where did this come from? And I did not always tell on you.”

“You cannot lie to save your life.”

“This is not wrong,” Nasti admits. But she smiles softly. “You really love her don’t you?” Honeymaren gulps, can’t speak, watches her own thumb rub over the cup, back and forth. Without a word spoken, Nasti releases a satisfied hum looking out at the fire. After a few moments of silence, she leans over conspiratorially. “I have a secret to tell you.”

“What’s that?” Honeymaren asks, chuckling nervously.

“I’m pregnant.”

Honeymaren’s mouth drops, and the kuksa almost does too. Nasti smiles, sucking in her lips. “You—!” Honeymaren stutters, excitedly slapping Nasti’s shoulder. “And Vallju—! You both! A-and baby?!”

“Mhmm!”

Tears threaten Honeymaren, and she pulls Nasti into a tight hug. “Oh! Oh wow!”

“I know!” Nasti’s crying a little.

“I’m proud of you?”

“Honeymaren!”

They laugh, letting go of each other. “But really, I… I’m so, so happy for you, dear.”

“Thank you, friend,” Nasti says, leaning against Honeymaren. Before she can be asked anything more, never caring much to elaborate on her struggles (like ongoing difficulties with having a child with her husband) she asks Honeymaren, “Are you going to carve anything into the handle?”

“Yes! Maybe… I haven’t decided.”

Silence.

“Don’t judge me.”

Nasti snorts. “Perhaps a snowflake?”

“That’s a little obvious, don’t you think?” Honeymaren asks. “Right? Or is it not? Yelena calls her snowflake though.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Nasti quips, shrugging. “Unless you can think of something a little more personal between you two, I don’t see any reason to _not_ carve a snowflake.”

“What about a reindeer?”

 _“Ryder_ might like that.”

“You’re no help,” Honeymaren teases. “Just you wait, I’m going to help with that baby so much, you’ll feel guilty for not helping me more.”

“Hm.” Nasti remains unfazed. “What about something sky-related?”

Nothing comes to mind. Then:

“Oh!” Honeymaren exclaims. “What about—?!”


	2. Elsa

**—Elsa—**

“Darling…”

Elsa spins at the sound of _her name_ on Maren’s lips. She stands just inside her goahti of ice, all bundled up against the coming winter. “Good morning,” Elsa says over her shoulder, lowering her comb from her hair. “What brings you by so early?” Maren doesn’t answer, just smiles at Elsa like her own personal sun, her own star.

“Let me help you with that,” she says instead, walking toward Elsa while discarding her hat and mittens. Apparently, she snuck in by getting her boots off the moment she arrived.

“All right,” Elsa agrees, watching Maren curiously as she sits down behind her. With a kiss to the corner of Elsa’s mouth, Maren takes the comb from her hand and tends to her hair.

“Thanks.”

“You’re brushing _my_ hair,” Elsa reminds her. “I should be thanking you.”

“Hmm, no,” Maren says behind her. When she finishes, she leans forward, wrapping her arms around Elsa’s stomach, pulling their bodies tight together. She can feel Maren press quick little kisses across her shoulders, landing at last at that sweet spot where her shoulder meets her neck. Elsa shivers with heat, smiles at how Maren lingers there, bends into it thereby moving her hair out of the way. At last, Honeymaren finishes, “I am sure I should thank you.”

Pushing back against Maren’s chest, Elsa can feel that shiver radiate down her spine, and it is too early in the day to be feeling this way. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Me?” Maren asks, incredulous. She turns her head over Elsa’s shoulder, giving her a dangerous look. Dangerous for Elsa; Maren might have no idea what she’s doing to Elsa at all. But then Maren grins, standing up. She steps around Elsa and kneels in front of her by the wood stove. Elsa watches her cautiously. Something’s up.

“I do have a little surprise for you.”

Elsa quirks an eyebrow as Maren reaches unceremoniously—and yet clumsily—into the chest of her bulky tunic. That heat that traveled down her spine a moment ago jumps at the sight, and Elsa crosses her legs as politely as possible. A small package sits in Honeymaren’s hands, wrapped in a paper she recognizes. “You were making birch bark paper a few days ago.”

Maren nods quickly, looks oddly nervous, smiling and staring at the package for the most part but peeking up at Elsa with eyes that look like burning firewood. Her cheeks burn red from the cold… and thensome, perhaps. Licking her lips, Honeymaren pulls Elsa’s hands forward, carefully placing the package in them. Elsa curls her fingers around the soft texture of the treated bark while Maren’s hands turn, first glancing across her wrists, then up to her elbows, at last resting on Elsa’s knees.

“What are you up to?” she asks Maren.

Practically giddy, Maren says, “It’s a little early.”

Suddenly, Elsa sits up, eyes wide. That can only mean one of two things—Elsa’s birthday or Christmas. And Honeymaren doesn’t celebrate Christmas. (Yet. They’ve been putting off discussing how to celebrate the winter solstice here, Elsa’s birthday, and then getting to Arendelle to celebrate Christmas. It’s just… a lot. And they’re a pair of stoics.)

In either case “a little early” is a gross understatement—it’s not even December yet. Actually, Elsa’s lost track and it might not yet be November, even.

Maren grins sheepishly at Elsa’s reaction. “But,” she continues, “when I saw outside today, I thought why wait, right?”

“What’s outside?” Elsa asks, furrowing her brow. If one of the spirits had somehow convinced Maren the end was nigh, she wants to know.

Rather, Maren’s eyes dance. Her grip on Elsa tightens, incidentally moving up her thighs. “You have to see!” Before Maren can register the slight, involuntary spread of said thighs, she’s dashed back toward the door, leaving Elsa sitting with a wrapped package in hand and a painful awareness of how early in the day it is to be _feeling this way._

“What do I have to see?” Elsa asks, trying to mask her weakness as she follows in Maren’s footsteps. Without further ado, Maren yanks her front door open. A white light streams in, the kind that only means one thing. After a quick pause, Elsa rushes forward, smiling. From Maren’s side, she beams. “Snow!”

Honeymaren nods quickly again, and Elsa realizes how much joy she’s feeling on Elsa’s behalf. “First snow of winter.” Elsa leans into her, pressing her hand into Maren’s sternum. When she turns to share her smile with Maren, she catches the brunette bite her lip, hooded eyelids trying to shield Elsa from that burning light in her gaze. Instead of saying what she’s thinking— _Fuck, flying fucking dear God, this woman_ —Elsa sighs happily and swallows thickly. With a nudge of her nose and a soft kiss in front of her ear, Maren reminds her, “You have a present to open.”

“I do,” Elsa says, looking down at her other hand. Therein lies the gift. “I don’t want to ruin the paper,” she whispers.

Maren lays her hand on Elsa’s shoulder blade, letting herself rub circles lower and lower on Elsa’s back. “Then don’t.”

She turns the item over, finds where the birch paper is tucked into itself, carefully pulls it back. When she takes the last of it off, her grin’s wiped clear off. A little gasp precedes her held breath. A hand-carved kuksa—one of the Northuldra’s carefully crafted wooden mugs—rests in her palms. She turns the carving of white wood in her hands, spots around the rim the horizontal diamonds carved with the marks of the four spirits of the forest. Something familiar and yet unknown sits carved on the handle. Running her finger over the mark, Elsa says at last, “This symbol… I know it.”

“You might recognize it from Ryder’s drums,” Maren says. “It’s a symbol for the sun, see?”

That’s it. A square with its corners pointing up, down, right, and left, lines sticking out from each corner—just like the center of a few of Ryder’s drums. Four sacred directions: North, South, East, West. “I didn’t know this was the sun,” Elsa says simply.

“Yeah,” Maren says, and Elsa looks up for the first time. Immediately, Maren smiles, relief crossing her face. “I—because um…” Elsa hangs on every hesitant word. Honeymaren shrugs, looking away, just like she did over a year ago when she invited Elsa to stay with the Northuldra. “You gave us…” She blushes, winces. “Me,” she corrects herself. “You know… the sun.”

***

_You’re my—!_

Something fierce erupts in Elsa’s gut, growing. Maren talks—she thinks. At least her mouth seems to be moving and sounds come out of it, she seems to be blushing. And concerned suddenly, because Elsa’s not moving, not speaking, just concentrating on controlling the feeling. But the ferocity of it grows and grows. Honeymaren waves a hand in front of her face, then lightly brushes her cheek.

The touch does it. Without another moment’s pause, Elsa crashes into Maren, swallowing the startled “Mph!” that ricochets out Maren’s mouth. Careful only to place the kuksa down, she shoves Honeymaren back into her home and slams the door shut behind them. Elsa wraps her arms tight around Maren’s neck, pulling them flush against each other. “How long have you worked on this?”

Pride bubbles up from her core and through her chest as Maren loudly gulps under her impassioned kisses. “Uh! A-a-about ahummm—Els!—Hmmn! _Fuck!_ A few months?” Maren yelps as Elsa tackles her again, pushing her back toward her bed. Falling back onto it, she looks up at Elsa, stunned.

“Months?!”

Alongside her blush, the now omnipresent glowing stars floating in Honeymaren’s hair crescendo from their everyday faint presence to shining brightness. The interconnected web of dark freckles that look like ice fractals rise to Honeymaren’s skin, perhaps for the first time ever without her touching Elsa in the throes of—

Elsa blushes fiercely herself at the sight of her “mark” on Maren, the inexplicable sign of her affections. Truth be told, she’s surprised at herself—and incredibly turned on. (Which is a lot more fun now that she knows what that feeling _is._ ) Bending down over Maren, she doesn’t entirely know what’s come over her.

Sudden bursts of affection after holding back, a reiteration of the effects of “conceal, don’t feel” habits? Sure. But this is something else entirely.

“Months?” she asks again, low.

“Elsa…” Brown eyes blaze up into her, and nothing makes her burn like that firelight. Elsa straddles Maren, caressing her cheeks as she watches her dark braid unravel in her fingers. Again, she presses their lips together, and Maren at last matches her fervor.

She bites Elsa's lip, eliciting a sound from Elsa that somehow she did not know she could make despite having crossed this bridge for the first time months ago. Something between a moan and a whine. Rough hands claw at Elsa's ribcage. Much to her own surprise, a murmured begging, “Yes!” comes out of her mouth. Almost immediately, the hands depart, leaving her searching for them as she shoves her body weight into their kiss.

Shifting below alerts her. They both sit up as Honeymaren struggles to get out of her new winter shirt. A tiny, bitter sliver of Elsa's heart wishes it were the shining shirt and cloak that she made for Maren. She lets that feeling flash and pass, yet also takes hold of the energy there, bubbling up. Instead of making a clear way for Maren to disrobe, Elsa attaches herself to her neck, grabbing her by the belt. With a groan, Maren warns her, “Elsa, I'm burning up.”

“You better be,” she hisses back. Breathing cold against her neck and relishing the sensation of Maren's shiver, Elsa moves her lips to her throat, suddenly hungry. Meanwhile Maren still attempts to remove her clothing, tries to push Elsa off gently to no avail. A growl ripples through her chest, warning Elsa. 

Although Elsa hasn't done it to Honeymaren before, she has received a discreetly placed bruising on occasion. Mimicking the act on Maren has, until this point, seemed a little silly. And a bit daunting. Glaring down at the depression between Maren’s collar bones at the base of her throat, feeling Honeymaren's hands grab at her again, Elsa feels anything but silly. Licking at the hallow, Elsa kisses it next, then does her best to form a seal. Her chin pushes Maren’s gakti out of her way, the fur lining tickling her own throat as she forcefully sucks. 

Maren gasps harshly; Elsa immediately stills. She can't see Maren's face at this angle. With a pop, she releases her hold.

“Honey, I... is it okay that I’m—?” Elsa pushes up off of Maren, seeking assurance.

“Yes, Elsa,” she rumbles.

If Honeymaren's eyes burned like a campfire before, they rage like a wildfire now. Want and trepidation mix peculiarly in Elsa's stomach. She's not sure all her powers could put out such a blaze. 

Slow yet passionate, Maren pulls Elsa's face to her own, kissing her deeply as they sit on the bed. There's no request—her tongue pushes past Elsa's lips, welcoming a soft moan that greets her there. She doesn't press deep, but her tongue sweeps everywhere within easy reach. Elsa wraps her arms tightly around the back of her neck, pulling them together, already arching into Maren. 

Just the same—slow yet passionate—she takes a fistful of Elsa's hair at the back of her head. “Elsa!” she growls urgently, gently pulling Elsa’s mouth back off her tongue. Elsa whimpers in surprise. She watches as Honeymaren pointedly unhooks her belt with one hand and reaches under her gákti. Helpless, she watches as Maren lifts her shirt off—switching her hand in Elsa's hair to do so—and unveils more ice-fractal marks rising to Maren’s skin.

“You like this, Elsa?” Honeymaren asks with a twinge of doubt, voice soft again. Elsa's heart speeds at the sound. “You want this? You want me to… like this?” The grip in her hair loosens, and Elsa feels strangely sad at the loss.

Whimpering helplessly, Elsa nods. Maren presses her forehead against Elsa, her gaze burning straight through her even as her calloused hands soften, resting on Elsa's bare shoulders. Her thumbs caress her there, and the tremor of Elsa’s heart threatens to spread elsewhere. 

“Tell me, darling,” Maren breathes, chewing her lip. Glancing down, Elsa can see the faint beginnings of a bruise on Maren’s throat. “I-I need to hear you say it.”

As sweet and tender as the moment is, Elsa wants Maren's fire again, badly. “Honeymaren Nattura,” she pants, willing away the shake in her voice. “If you do not fuck me hard right now, I swear, I will _you!”_

The pause does her in. Maren blinks just once, genuinely shocked at her rebuttal given that Elsa usually craves all softness. But it's enough of a moment for Elsa to shove her back down to the bed. She means business, and she keeps her promises to Honeymaren.

Although she knows deep down that Maren could overpower her physically with ease, Elsa holds her wrists down above her head. Once she sees the twitch of Maren's mouth toward a smirk, she lets go of them, dragging her fingernails down Maren’s strong arms, wrapping her fingers round Maren’s lightly bound breasts. Already Maren groans, watching Elsa massage her and finally yank away the bindings. Without further warning, she reapplies her wanting mouth to Honeymaren's skin where her hickey lays while her hands make rough work of her ribs and stomach. When they finally return to Maren's bare breasts and Elsa lifts her lips away—from a much more satisfying bruise, she might add—Maren replaces her moans with a loud, “FUCK!”

“You took too long to decide.”

Their eyes dare each other. Deep down, Elsa's not sure she can pull this off. Nonetheless she bluffs her best, glaring down at Honeymaren. With a huff and a grin, Maren quickly grabs the back of Elsa's head and pulls her down against her chest. 

“Do your worst, princess,” she growls smugly.

Of course she recognized Elsa’s sham. But as both Maren's hands press her mouth toward a beautiful brown nipple, Elsa admits internally that she wants more of _this_. A loud moan pushes out of Maren's stomach below her as Elsa makes contact, bending her spine up toward Elsa. When she stops swirling her tongue over the erect bud and sucks on it instead, grazing the nipple with her teeth, one of Maren's hands flies to her other breast, clutching at Elsa’s hand there. They both moan, Elsa wrapping an arm underneath Maren's back to hold her steady. There she remains, holding fast, far longer than Maren usually tolerates. 

Arching high despite Elsa's weight, Maren groans, “Elsa! You better grrr…ind—!” Another moan, drawn out, gives her pause. Before Honeymaren even opens the eyes rolling back in her head, she claws her hands down to Elsa's waist, pulls on her clothes. The moment Elsa's hips are in her grasp, she opens her eyes. 

Elsa can't help her full-body blush as Honeymaren: First, pulls Elsa up her own body with an arm around her hips; Second, grabs the hem of her pale leggings and shoves them and her undergarments down her legs until Elsa obediently kicks them off of herself; and Third, practically picks Elsa up and sits her down on her own hips. Although she still wears leather trousers herself, Maren shoves them down to her knees and sits up. 

Watching her blue eyes the whole time, Maren positions Elsa’s body on top of her in charged silence. She threads one of Elsa's legs through the gap between Maren's groin and the hem of her pants, effectively trapping Elsa there with the tension of the leather. Honeymaren positions Elsa’s opposite leg on the other side of her hips. Bending into it, Elsa gasps. They touch and are both absolute wrecks, soaked for each other. Grimacing with pleasure, Maren leans back and yanks on Elsa's hips just once. She gasps and whines at the sensation.

“You going to 'fuck me hard' or not, darling?”

Those words are more than enough to instigate Elsa into action. She slides across Maren's center with silken ease, whimpering more still when Maren both guides her hips and lifts her dress so she can watch Elsa grind down on her.

Quietly, she adds, “Don’t forget to talk to me, darling.”

_Right_ , Elsa thinks, chiding herself a little. “Honey…”

“Please tell me you feel good?” When the hips beneath Elsa start to rise the meet her, dark curls give Elsa texture she didn't know she needed. They both moan, and Honeymaren's head falls back to the bed.

_“So so_ good, Honey,” Elsa breathes. “I promise, you feel so good.”

Although her body begins to spasm underneath Elsa, Maren fights it, looking up at Elsa with an appetite she didn't realize Maren had. Through gritted teeth, she urges Elsa, “Faster.”

She obeys, ignoring for the moment her own pleasure and instead centering herself over Honeymaren's clit. Her legs cry out but she grinds down as fast and precisely as she can, her hands tightly grabbing Honeymaren's legs. Despite their combined fervor, Maren’s hand skims over Elsa’s torso to her face, pulling her to look into those wildfire eyes once more.

“I…” Elsa whines. “Honey, please come, I want you to!"

At last, an uneven, shuddering cry lets loose from Maren. Thrashing wildly, she orgasms hard. Elsa stops moving aside from panting, in awe at the sight below her, shocked by the music of Honeymaren’s voice, whining her name.

Before she can bend low to offer kisses to this beloved woman who breathes heavy through aftershocks, Maren surprises Elsa by quickly embracing her, then flipping her over onto the bed. “Honey?”

Elsa finds herself stripped, her dress pulled off over her head, then she’s flipped yet again, facedown against the pelts. _Oh!_

“Do you still want this, Elsa?” Maren husks at her ear, still panting, her hands continuing to shake from her own pleasure.

“Yes.” Elsa shakes too, feels Maren's naked torso and legs and everything in between pressed against her back. _How did she strip so fast?!_ Heat trails down Elsa's spine alongside those calloused, shaking hands.

To her opposite ear, Maren breathes, “You want to be at my mercy?” A thigh bends into her, pressing against Elsa’s inner thighs but not quite reaching her core.

“Yes,” Elsa repeats, hopes she doesn't sound too desperate. “Please, Honey.” _Why did you say that if you don’t want to sound desperate?_ Elsa thinks, squeezing her legs around Maren’s.

Satisfied humming replies, though. Although Elsa’s loins remain frustratingly untouched, Maren’s hands caress her ribs and shoulders, drag down her back to the soft flesh on the backside of her waist, grabbing her there. With a pull, Maren encourages Elsa to bend her knees, push her torso up off the bed. Quickly those calloused fingers meander up to her chest, squeezing her breasts while Maren bends over Elsa’s back. Their hips push into each other, but still no contact where Elsa craves it most. Nonetheless she keens when feels Maren’s thumbs circle her nipples. She flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, turns to look back.

A quick respite, Maren grins adoringly at Elsa, offers her shoulder a quick peck and a blushing confession: “Do you know you have the most _amazing_ ass?”

The unexpected compliment makes her blush and giggle, “Honey!”

It’s hard to say exactly what emotion plays out on Maren’s face next. Elsa bites her lip at the sight of it. Desire, certainly. Tenderness, too. The fire still burns in her eyes, ranging from frenzied hunger to absolute self-control. She feels another shiver against her ass and the sensitive skin over her hamstrings. One of Maren’s hands pulls away from the tight skin of Elsa’s breast, making her whine sadly. She drags her hand up to Elsa’s collar bones, down her sternum again and down her stomach, turning around her hips and—!

Still no contact!

Elsa groans with frustration, pushing back against Maren urgently. But she notices Maren’s hand again as she leans over Elsa’s back—massaging her own breast. Briefly—Maren stops leaning over Elsa, retreating. Her hands grab her hips again, push Elsa’s chest down to the blankets while keeping her ass up. There’s a pause.

“You are so beautiful,” Maren sighs weakly, voice low. “Every bit of you.” Turning her head to the side on the pelts, fisting them, Elsa catches sight behind her of Maren admiring. Gazing sweetly at Elsa… specifically her vulva and ass. She blushes violently at the look Maren’s giving her, feeling heat rise across her entire back. Maren moans at the sight. “Fuck, Elsa,” she rasps, biting her lip as she catches Elsa’s eyes while her hands roam. “I wish you could see how gorgeous you are.”

“Honey,” Elsa starts, but at long last Maren cups her loins, dragging her palm up and down over her. A deep moan escapes Elsa’s lips. She crashes her face against the bedding, her gut churning with relief.

A whimper, followed by Maren’s voice mumbling, “Holy…”

“What is it?”

“You,” Maren says simply, still caressing Elsa. Her hand turns, palm down, runs her knuckles against Elsa’s folds and clit. She leans over Elsa’s back again. Maren’s other hand sweeps up to her chest again, then down. Growling deeply, Maren’s fingers spread Elsa apart, exposing her clit to an expertly placed middle finger. Meanwhile, the middle finger of Maren’s other hand drifts softly up and down between wet folds.

“Honey!” Elsa whimpers. Lips fiercely kiss the base of her spine, then bite at her hips. Slow circles run round Elsa’s clit, but nowhere as slow as that finger still teasing at her entrance. Too slow—she was already worked up from grinding down on Maren, this is just prolonged torture. Pushing back against her, she repeats her lover’s name, imploringly, “Honey!”

“What do you want, Elsa?”

“Fuck me!” she hisses through clenched teeth, her voice nonetheless cracking with need.

Honey mutters, “Fuck,” under her breath. But she obliges, pushing a curled finger into Elsa without hesitation. Elsa gives her a lewd groan, harmonizing with Honeymaren’s pleased rumble. Nothing catches as Maren curls her finger in and all the way out of Elsa repeatedly. Arousal easily pours out of her, dripping down toward her clit, which Maren uses, painting Elsa with her own wetness. She moans into the bed, muffling herself despite Maren doing no such thing.

“What a good girl,” Maren groans loudly, presses her forehead to Elsa’s slowly convulsing back.

“More,” Elsa begs.

“What ever happened to please?”

“Honey!”

“Hmm,” Maren hums happily. Elsa feels another kiss against her spine, lingering and sucking. “Still no please?”

“Please, Honey!”

At the next pass, two fingers spread inside Elsa, a much-needed stretch making her smile and keen, curling into the bed. But it’s not enough. “More?” She can practically hear the cogs in Maren’s head turning at the request. “Please, Honey,” Elsa says, pushing back onto her lover’s fingers as much as possible, trying to convince her. “Please, I need more.”

Her fingers slow somewhat; Honeymaren’s still thinking.

“Mare?”

Honeymaren takes a deep breath behind her, leans down to kiss her hips again. “Anything for you, Elsa.”

Elsa smiles at the sensation of a third finger teasing at her lips as the two within her continue curling into her flesh. She does her best to turn her head so Maren can see her pleasure, so Maren can see her smile and hear her keen as she cautiously extends her third finger. “Oh God,” Elsa mumbles, voice high yet quiet, trying to meet Maren’s eyes. It’s uncomfortable craning her neck back while against the bed, but it’s so incredible as Maren circles her clit with renewed vigor, incredible as Elsa slides her chest—deliberately rough—against the pelt beneath herself, incredible to feel so much of her Honey within.

“Elsa!” Honeymaren cries, brown eyes flying from Elsa’s face to her handiwork band back again. Moaning at the sight of Elsa, surely feeling Elsa’s body pull her in more fully and spread around her and ripple more and more and more. “I love fucking you. I love feeling you, I love hearing you need me.”

The emotion in Maren’s voice makes her own heart quake. “I do,” Elsa pants as Maren works her, steadily pushing harder and faster, spinning liquid faster around her clit. Licking her lips, she reaches her own hand down, floating over Maren’s because she needs to hold her hand. “I need you…” Elsa interrupts herself with a moan, pleasure building in her abdomen and starting to electrify the nerves across her whole body. “I need you like this.”

Possessive growling responds. Elsa moans back, panting harder. There’s so much sensation, so much want, and while Maren’s fingertips keep hitting a most pleasurable spot, her knuckles force her open wide, rippling into her. So much feeling that Elsa screws her eyes shut, tightly pulls her own hair, listens to the slap of Maren’s hand pumping against her. Again, she feels Maren’s forehead press against her spine. A cry is building in her.

Finally, Elsa releases that cry, raging through it. She arches into the bed, spasms so hard her knees collapse under her weight. But Maren keeps at it, pushing her further. It’s too much, but Elsa doesn’t want her to stop, doesn’t want this to stop. In minutes, she’s arching more, coming even harder, strangled cries flying out of her with every thrust. The orgasm builds, impossibly enduring, with Elsa and Honeymaren determined to prolong it as much as possible. As intense as it is, Elsa still doesn’t signal Honeymaren to stop, and a third explosion destroys her from the inside out. At last Elsa collapses on the bed, curling in on herself while convulsing and crying, “Honey! Honey! Honey!”

The next thing she knows is Honeymaren wrapping around her, holding Elsa close to her chest as she rubs up and down her still shaking back, a blanket over them both suddenly. Nuzzling close, Elsa gasps until her body finally relaxes, fuzzy at the edges. In the safety of _her_ sun’s arms, she looks up with hazy eyes. Something she’s thought a million times but never said aloud rises to her lips.

“I love you, too,” Elsa whispers, falls into a deep sleep.

**—Honeymaren—**

Honeymaren caresses Elsa for a long time after their impromptu morning fuck fest. She and Elsa have never had sex like that before. Not even that, Honeymaren has _never_ had sex like _that_ ever. _That was…_ Honeymaren reflects, eyes wide as she watches Elsa snuggle closer still to her. _That was wild_. Even though she knows women’s bodies pretty well, and Elsa’s in particular quite well. Still, Honeymaren wonders how on Earth she pulled that off, how Elsa pulled that off, how she’ll ever pull that off again.

And how much she liked it, surprisingly.

How much she liked it while Elsa clearly _loved_ _it,_ far more surprisingly.

Her gaze wanders from Elsa’s hair to the other side of her home of (thankfully thick and nearly opaque) ice. The kuksa hangs off an icicle hook beside Elsa’s other cookware.

_“I love you, too.”_

How long had it been since she heard those words and really, truly felt it?

She already asked Ryder for help making Elsa some “normal” clothes after more than a year in that (albeit magical) dress. This leaves Honeymaren wondering how on Earth she’ll survive giving Elsa another gift.


End file.
